


Hidden but not Unknown

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Finding Love, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 14:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: When Holmes accidentally sees Watson in an intimate moment, his passions are enflamed, but could Watson ever feel the same?





	Hidden but not Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Merindab (janto321) for being a patient beta and cheerleader!
> 
> Holmes has a good deal of internalized homophobia and the language used reflects period-typical thoughts on the matters of masturbation and homosexuality which are obviously not shared by this queer author. If you might find this triggering or otherwise harmful please read something else.

The hour was late. I had tried to sleep but could not settle, instead returning once more to my workbench to make notes and addendums for further exploration. 

Not long thereafter, I heard a noise upstairs. Hearing my Watson cry out, and thinking one of his nightmares had come upon him, I moved closer. At times I had been able to soothe his rest without him waking and so with purest intent, I ascended the stair to his room. I crept to the door, opening it a crack. To my shame, I could not turn away when I realized that he was very much awake and quite intimately engaged. He was so focused on his pleasure he never heard my traitorous spying, wasn’t disturbed by the weight of my leering gaze through the crack in the door. His cockstand was full, flushed dark, the head glossy with the first clear drops of his spending yet to come. My lips parted of their own volition and my hand fell to my own hardness. As he stroked himself from root to tip and back again my hand mimicked the motion. With burning cheeks I watched him until I had to muffle myself, biting down on my wrist lest I give myself away in my own crisis. I watched as his motions, once sure and steady, stuttered and slowly came to a halt as he spilled over his own hand. I dared not linger, for once he had come again to his senses, surely I would be discovered. 

I raced back to my bedroom and threw myself down on the bed, heart hammering and nightshirt shamefully wet. Would that were the end of it. It had been many years since I had paid my transport any carnal attention and within a remarkably short time I felt the need to abuse myself further, depraved thoughts filling my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and licked the juices from my first emission from my fingers, sucking greedily on them as I imagined it was his member taken thusly into my mouth. When I could stand the buildup of desire no longer, I took myself in hand again, imagining his hand on my prick, his kisses pressed to my mouth. My fingers inched further back, gently pressing behind my bollocks. I had never reached climax again so swiftly. Seldom had I reached climax at all. I fairly swooned with it, waking some time later to make my ablutions before falling back into a fitful sleep. 

The following morning I could not imagine how I was to look upon Watson the same way. A fever had come over me, a sickness brought upon no doubt by my condition. I had avoided entanglements so far, hiding my inversion as mere disinterest. How could I deny it now? 

I did not emerge from my quarters even as the sky drew light and I could hear the stirrings of the household all around me. At last, as was inevitable, Watson knocked upon my door. “Holmes? Are you quite all right?”

“Go away,” I shouted. He was no stranger to my moods and surely he had learned when to leave me to my own devices. Alas, he did not give up so easily today.

“Holmes, are you ill? Let me help you.”

I could not escape how insistent his tone, how concerned, even worried, he sounded, for all that I didn’t deserve his sympathies. I felt wretched, my stomach clenching. Still, I would not wish him more fears on my account. Life had brought him sorrows enough without him worrying after me. “Oh, if you must, Mother Hen.”

He tried the door then and found it unlocked as I had left it. He hurried to my bedside and put his hand to my forehead. I trembled at his touch and closed my eyes tight against the storm that threatened there, my eyes stinging. He had been alone and following the impulses of his healthy body, no doubt thinking of something acceptable. I had intruded upon that and look where it had gotten me.

“Watson, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Holmes, I am your friend and your doctor. If I do not attend you, who would? You do not seem well, my dear fellow. Please.” He clasped my shoulder with a gentle shake. “What’s gotten into you?”

“It is nothing.”

His voice turned stern and commanding, “I’ll be the judge of that, Holmes,” and I was helpless at that. Helpless and hopelessly aroused. My skin felt like fire everywhere he’d touched me, though they were the most innocent of touches, merely to my forehead, my arm.

To my shame, Watson, thinking I was simply being recalcitrant in letting him help me, wrestled me from my nightclothes to complete an examination. The movement did nothing to alleviate my current condition, in fact, it inflamed me to far worse, perfectly undeniable state.

Though I had often noted that Watson was not the most observant of men, he needed no carefully honed skills to see what was plainly visible upon my person, the interest he had aroused in me. His cheeks flushed and eyes darted everywhere at once before he turned his back to me. 

“Well, there is my problem, Watson.” I tried to ignore the tremor in my own voice as I admitted to it. No sense in denying now. 

“Holmes, I-- I’m sorry. I should have listened when you said you wished to be alone. I was worried about you. I thought you were ill. Although...” He paused, peeking over his shoulder at me, his countenance at once sly and wary. “If you still wanted help…”

Though never one to doubt what my senses and intellect together could detect, it was too much to be believed. In all our time together I never would have suspected such a predilection. I’m sure the shock of it showed on my face. “You’re suggesting…”

Watson cleared his throat. “Think no more of it if you wouldn’t want me to, but yes.”

“Oh my dear Watson, please. Close the door lest Mrs Hudson come in, but if you’re quite serious, stay on.”

I will admit I was startled by the speed and grace with which he moved to the door, slipping the bolt in place and returning to my bedside. 

Watson looked at me, a question in his eyes and I nodded, though to what I was agreeing I truly couldn’t have said. I hadn’t even attempted to deduce it, just along for whatever my dear Watson had in mind. 

He undressed quickly, slipped into bed beside me and did not hesitate to take me in hand. I drew in a shuddering breath and groaned at the warmth of his touch, his breath on my neck, the heady knowledge that Watson himself was touching me. 

“Is this all right?” he had the care to ask, as his hand stoked me up and down. 

I was leaking now, slicking his way as he slid the foreskin back and forth. The pleasure was exquisite and I arched into his touch. “Sublime,” I moaned. 

“I am not certain I have ever surprised you so. Did you know I thought of you last night?” Watson whispered. “I have never dreamed I could truly have you. You haven’t shown the slightest interest in love of any sort, until now.” He pressed close to me and I could feel his passions stirred, the hard length of him jutting against my hip. I sighed and wriggled against him.

“You have me, Watson,” I panted, “ I am yours.” 

His strokes became faster as he kissed my neck, making me shiver under the delightful tickling of his whiskers. He whispered, his voice low and rumbling, sending sparks of desire through the very core of me. “I know you were there last night. I am reasonably certain I had closed my bedroom door before I retired. Nearly as certain as I was that the hallway smelled of your tobacco. I was terrified at being caught out, that I might have ruined everything, but now-” he let go and I cried out at the loss of his touch. “Now, I think you perhaps liked the show.” He gave me a wicked smile that made my face glow with warmth and I buried my face against his shoulder. He stroked a single finger up my length, as teasing as his voice. “Did you touch yourself? Did you think of me? I hope so.”

I must confess I looked up at him then, as shy as any bride, but nodded slightly. 

“Show me,” Watson asked and I could not refuse him. Reaching down, I stroked lightly over my bollocks, drawn tight with desire, then took myself in hand. 

As I stole a glance at Watson and what I saw nearly took my breath away. His lips were parted and his pupils blown wide and dark. He licked his lips and reached for his own prick, never breaking our gaze as he began to stroke himself too. 

My pleasure built as I watched him, the warmth of his body beside me, the weight of his gaze on me and the memory of his hands spurred me on. At last with the thought was that he was _here_, wanting me, I breathed his name, spilling over my hand and across my stomach. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured, then closed his eyes and brought himself to his own release. 

My desire to taste him overtook me and without a thought I dragged my fingers through the mess of his spendings and brought them to my lips, sucking them clean. The salt tang of him on my tongue sent a thrill through me

Watson blinked at me in wonder and let out a pleased, satisfied groan, then pulled me close. He tilted my chin up and, to my amazement and delight, moved to kiss me. I let myself be drawn into the embrace and the first touch of his lips on mine was tender and soft. I returned his kisses with passion and delight, as if I could pour out all the love I felt for him into the soft movements of our mouths. At last we drew apart and, though we had not spoken it aloud, I could see in Watson’s eyes that he felt just the same. 

Eventually he stretched and moved to the water basin, cleaning up and bringing me a cloth to wash up as well. 

“We should probably leave the bedroom. It must be nearly midday,” Watson said and the regret I could hear in his voice made my heart soar.

“You don’t have to sound so sad about it, my dear fellow. We could always retire here later.”

Watson kissed my hand. “Nothing would suit me more. I’m yours, Holmes. However you’d like.”

It seemed too soon to tell him what I truly desired, for him to stand by my side and sleep in my arms for as long as life should last. I smiled at him and pulled on a dressing gown before offering my arm. “How about we begin with breakfast?”

Watson laughed. “Or lunch.”

“Whatever you wish.”


End file.
